The next morning, I was determined to try again. But this time, I was going to be smarter about it.
I’d read about “service-based businesses” in my book. Dog washing seemed perfect. Everyone in our neighborhood had dogs, and it was summer—dogs would be getting dirty from playing outside.
I made a new sign: KIORA’S DOG WASH – $10 PER DOG!
Ten dollars was way better than fifty-cent cups of lemonade. I set up in our backyard with the garden hose, some old towels, and dog shampoo from the garage.
My first customer was Mrs. Chen from down the street. She showed up with Buster, a golden retriever who looked like he’d been rolling in mud.
“He got into the flower beds this morning,” she said apologetically. “Are you sure you can handle him?”
“Absolutely,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I love dogs.”
This was only partially true. I’d never actually washed one before.
Mrs. Chen handed me the ten dollars and headed home. “I’ll be back in an hour!”
I looked down at Buster, who was panting happily and wagging his tail. This was going to be easy.
I was wrong.
The moment I turned on the hose, Buster decided he wanted nothing to do with getting clean. He jumped backward, shook himself off, and tried to run.
“Come on, boy,” I said, grabbing his collar. “It’s just water.”
Buster was not convinced. He pulled and twisted, trying to escape. I managed to get him somewhat wet, but when I squeezed shampoo onto his back, he went completely crazy.
He spun in circles, barking and shaking soap everywhere. I got soaked. The fence got soaked. Even Mom’s tomato plants got soaked.
“Stay still!” I pleaded, but Buster had other plans.
He broke free from my grip and bolted toward the front yard, trailing soap suds behind him.
“Buster! Come back!”
I panicked and ran inside. “MOM! HELP! THE DOG ESCAPED!”
Mom set down her water glass and rushed outside, still in her pajamas and slippers.
“Where did he go?” she asked.
“That way!” I pointed down the street where Buster was now rolling in Mrs. Henderson’s flower bed, getting even dirtier than before.
What followed was the most ridiculous chase scene our neighborhood had ever witnessed. Mom and I ran after Buster, who thought this was the best game ever invented. Every time we got close, he’d dart away, shaking soap suds everywhere like a furry sprinkler system.
First, Mom slipped on the wet grass and slid three feet on her stomach, arms flailing, looking like she was trying to swim through the lawn. “I’m okay!” she yelled, spitting out grass.
Then I tripped over a garden hose and face-planted in a puddle with a spectacular splash. When I looked up, I had a leaf stuck to my forehead.
Buster just kept running, barking happily, leaving a trail of soap bubbles floating through the air like he was some kind of demented bubble machine.
“This way!” Mom shouted, trying to corner him near the Johnsons’ driveway.
Buster was too smart. He zigzagged between cars, under bushes, and around trash cans. At one point, he ran straight through Mrs. Henderson’s sprinkler, came out the other side looking like a wet mop, shook himself off, and somehow managed to get even MORE soap suds on everything.
By now, half the neighborhood was watching from their windows. Mr. Martinez was recording it on his phone. Mrs. Johnson was laughing so hard she had to sit down on her porch steps.
“He’s heading for the Hendersons’ garden!” Mom yelled, pointing dramatically.
We both lunged for him at the same time and crashed into each other instead, landing in a heap on the sidewalk. Buster trotted over and licked my face, his tail wagging like nothing had happened.
We both stood there, soaking wet and covered in mud, staring at the soapy golden retriever sitting happily in front of us.
The second attempt at washing went better since Buster was too tired to fight. I managed to rinse off the soap and towel him dry.
When Mrs. Chen came back, Buster was clean but I looked like I’d been through a hurricane.
“Oh my,” she said, looking at my soaked clothes and the soap suds in my hair. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said, trying to sound professional. “Buster’s all clean.”
“Well here’s $15. From the look of it, I think you earned it.”
After she left, I sat on the back steps and surveyed the damage. The yard was flooded. There were muddy paw prints everywhere. And I smelled like wet dog.
Mom came outside and took one look at me.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Dog washing didn’t go as planned?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, you’re going to need to clean up this mess before Dad gets home. And probably take a shower. Or three.”
We looked at each other and just started laughing.
Idea #2 was officially a bust.